


He is not his father

by ChocoNut



Series: Tales of love (Season 3/4) [46]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Passionate Sex, Season 3 missing scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:34:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28979706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: “Sitting here alone and drinking to drown your grief is not going to bring her back.”She shifts uncomfortably when he sits down beside her. His tone cuts her like a dagger. “I have always suffered alone,” she snaps, angrily blinking back fresh tears that are threatening to expose her weakness to him. “Save your attack for another time and place, ser, and allow me this moment of peace. I’m not going anywhere soon, so I’m certain you’ll have your chance at a petty victory later.”ORThe one where Brienne quietly mourns Catelyn Stark on their way back from Harrenhal, and Jaime steps in to comfort her.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Tales of love (Season 3/4) [46]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1483640
Comments: 16
Kudos: 98





	He is not his father

There’s nothing she could have done about it—that Brienne tries to tell herself, but her feeble self-reassurance does nothing to ease the weight on her chest. The sinking guilt wouldn’t go away, nor would the gnawing feeling that she could have averted it if only she’d stayed by the lady’s side. 

They say Roose Bolton’s the one behind it. They also speak in hushed tones of Tywin Lannister’s involvement in the massacre. Should that be true, he’s no more just her enemy but a sworn one—his whole family, and it is only fitting that she loathes them all, so why then, does his son, the man she’d once dreamed of cutting to pieces, continue to make her nightly dreams—dreams of a very different kind this time— his residence? 

_He is not his father,_ her heart tells her. And who, but her, should know that better than anyone else? It wasn’t the ruthless Tywin Lannister’s son who’d lied to their captors to save his once-powerful captor’s honour. And it certainly cannot have been a selfish Lannister who’d leaped in front of a beast to rescue a woman who meant nothing to him save a word he’d granted to another when half-conscious and inebriated in a cell. 

So who, in actuality, is this man and why is he being compassionate to her when compassion isn’t a word the Lannisters have grown up learning?

She glances down at her empty glass, her fingers absently tracing the embroidered edges of the bedspread. Like her tears that have dried up, the ale has joined the non-existent. Like the dark of the night outside, her heart’s thrust into a dark chasm. She’d pledged her sword to the Lady, but failed her, just like she’d failed Renly, and she’d be no good for the girls, too.

“Sitting here alone and drinking to drown your grief is not going to bring her back.” 

She shifts uncomfortably, puts her glass away when he sits down beside her. His tone cuts her like a dagger. Despite all he’s done for her, _this_ —the way he perceives her—will never change. No doubt he’s here to mock her, to shower her with his choicest criticisms.

“Wench—”

“I have _always_ suffered alone,” she snaps, angrily blinking back fresh tears that are threatening to expose her weakness to him. “Save your attack for another time and place, ser, and allow me this moment of peace. I’m not going anywhere soon, so I’m certain you’ll have your chance at a petty victory later.”

Her childhood, all her youth and all of this eventful journey, she’s spent enduring this unpleasantness, unflinchingly gulping down the insults so freely hurled at her, but now—now when she’d just been contemplating this change in him—this is the moment he chooses to shove his harsh tongue down her throat, to—

She swallows, pushes it away where it won’t bother her, looks down at the bed that wouldn’t rip her emotions to shreds. She can’t let him see it, can’t let him—

“You think I’m here to hurt you?” he asks, his voice taking a turn towards something she can’t recognize. It isn’t mockery, isn’t the usual air of jest he has around her. Lady Catelyn leaves her mind for a moment, and she tries to make out what this is, but when his warm hand meets her cold fingers, none of anything but _him_ begins to make sense.

“Look at me, my lady.”

But she doesn’t. A part of her reminds her she’s supposed to hate him, wants to push him away, to shrug this off as a dream that’ll break in a few hours, but the ale in her blood rises from under its hood, nudges her towards what she really wants, what she’s been craving for in dream after dream. _No,_ she continues to resist, but when he shifts closer, when his fingers gently squeeze hers, she crumbles just a little. 

“Look at me, Brienne.”

There’s something about the way he says her name—the tenderness in his eyes when she looks up takes her down, and she caves in, buries her face in the crook of his neck. Is this surrender? Is this good? She doesn’t know. All she knows is his closeness when his arms wrap around her, the reassuring comfort when he holds her to his heart. A wave of emotions rising within her, something beyond comfort, she years for, when his fingers comb through her hair, when her hand makes it to his chest. There is this compelling need to stay like this all night, breathing him in, letting his scent get to the remotest parts of her, to every inch of her body and every nerve that runs beneath her skin.

When Jaime presses his mouth to her head, she cracks, throws her arms around his neck and gives in to her grief. And he’s there for her, lets her hot tears soak his shirt, his even breathing, her solace, slowly lulling her into a calm. He asks nothing, says nothing, just holds her for a few peaceful moments, the warmth from his body driving away the chill of loneliness inside her.

“Ser Jaime—” 

She withdraws when she’s calmed down enough to, wants to tell him she hasn’t gone to pieces, but when his lips close in to meet hers, her words roll together into an incoherent clump in her head. 

All her body needs her to do is close her eyes and dissolve in this moment. He’s her flame, and she’s the helpless moth that can’t keep away. He draws her in with his touch, and she lets herself be shaped as he wishes, lets him consume her. He makes his demands, and she makes hers, and together, they embark on a journey to please each other. He gives her his all, and she gives in, gives him more than just her passion as his lips take her to a new heavenly realm of sensations.

The kiss, much to her disappointment, lasts only for a few torrid seconds, and when they spend what almost feels like an eternity with an awkward silence springing up between them, she knows not what to expect next.

“Brienne,” he murmurs, his thumb flitting along the curve of her jaw before drifting down her neck to gently trace her cuts. His eyes wander her face, dropping down to her breasts, and at once, the tug between her legs escalates to so much more. The pull is just too much. She feels like his hand is all over her, his tongue swishing hungrily across her erect nipples. “Brienne, I—” His throat moves, but words, there are not. His gaze unabashedly caressing her bosom, he swallows. And Brienne does, too, tries hard not to blink. She can make out he’s hard—for her, because of her. 

“So do I,” she whispers, for she wants it, too, wants him badly. This magic might not last when the moment has passed, the spell broken when they wake up to the sun, but tonight, this is where they are. It feels pointless to hide behind the wall of denial anymore. 

He lays her on her back, pushes up the filthy pink rags she’s still wearing. His fingers defter than anything she’s imagined, he’s touching her like he wants to take her someplace she’s never been before, asking her to a dance no man has ever asked her to before. A part of her knows this isn’t going to last beyond this night, yet, she doesn’t want to stop him.

His fingers linger around her wetness, briefly, encouragingly, as if he’s telling her there’s nothing to worry, that she can trust him.

And she does.

She looks down into his eyes, and naked with his desire for her, they scorch hers in a fiery union. Her heart flips up from where it’s meant to be, the throbbing ache within her craves for him—more than just his fingers.

 _Patience,_ his eyes tease, as do his fingers when he gently parts her folds, caresses her. Thumb on her nub, he pins her to the bed with his body, seeks her lips to wrap her in a fiery kiss. He presses hard into her engorged clit as his tongue makes passionate love to her mouth, and she fights back, grinding her thighs against him, gasping against his punishing kisses, the shivers licking through her entire body.

Her hips rise unsteadily, but strong arms hold her down. He kisses her harder, hungry for her, as his fingers work urgently between her legs. She has to pull away for a moment to catch her breath, to steady her clouded mind, but when his mouth drags down to her breast, teeth ripping what he can of her dress out of the way, his hot breath hungry for bare skin, she’s gone again, trapped in his web, tied in the chains of the sensations he’s inflicting on her. His thumb goes faster, relentless and knowing. And she pushes back, desperate to speed this up, frantic for this to end in an explosion of relief. Her breathing is not breathing anymore, but impatient moans and frustrated sighs. Her muscles clench around what he’s doing to her—everything inside feels wound up like and ready to burst into shreds of uninhibited pleasure. 

She’s done this to herself on lonely nights before, but none of it felt like this. This—this doesn’t feel like her body anymore. No one has ever made her feel this beautiful and wanted before. 

“ _Oh,_ ” she gasps, when he works her in circles, expertly taking her down, drawing her into the eye of the storm. She grasps at his wrist, egging him to go on, and when he breathes down her chest, his lips and teeth setting fire to her breasts, when he thrusts his hips against hers, giving her a glimpse of the torture he’s going through, her body begs for more.

Begs for _him_. 

Grappling with his kisses and what he’s building up between her legs, she reaches between them, and undoing his pants in a clumsy fumble driven by dogged determination, she gropes around, seeks out his cock. Hot and hard in her hands, he grunts, leaves her with a bite on her lower lip when she fondles his length, caresses him.

He pulls back, though, and worried she might have hastened it all, Brienne gets up in a hurry, works up the nerve to meet his eyes, but what she finds there, she could never have expected. He looks so fragile—more than he’s been when he’s had to suffer those horrors, and scared. And she has an inkling why.

“I know you won’t hurt me,” she tells him, and the wonderful coupling of tenderness and lust in his eyes is the reply she craves—he knows she isn’t just talking about her maidenhead. Without her realizing he’s touched her in ways she couldn’t have fathomed. Does he even know what he’s doing to her even when he’s not around her? Can she ever tell him that he, and not Renly, has awakened something in her—something she’d never known she could feel?

Eyes dark with lust never leaving hers, he struggles one-handed with his shirt, growls in frustration when he finds little success. “Wait, let me,” she offers, and he steps away from the battle and lets her take over. His heart’s thrumming so hard in anticipation when she’s done away with his clothes that when they get to her gown, it’s a mad scramble. 

Her dress discarded, she sits tentatively at the edge of the bed, apprehensive, for a moment. Naked, she’s the fragile one now, out of her shell, vulnerable, her undesirable form open to his appraisal. Would he find her too ugly and back away? Would he cringe before he can—

But when he eagerly finds her mouth, in the way he lays her down and covers her with his body, he says the unspoken. He is hers, in this moment, at least, and she wants to be his. She draws him close, legs coiled around his ass, heels digging into his thighs. Deepening the kiss, she returns his want. His cock nestled in the warmth of her wetness, his weight pressed on hers, their lips locked together as one—this feels right. 

Jaime Lannister may not have bedded another but his lover, and may never again once they set foot outside this inn, but tonight, there are no rules. 

Tonight, when his lips glide down her neck, as his fingers frisk her hair, he is not the man who once mocked her.

Tonight, when he breathes into her and she into him, his woes are hers and her grief, his.

Tonight, when he moves into her, it feels like he belongs there. And she, with him.

Tonight, she wants him more than Renly, more than the princes of her stories she’s spent many maiden nights fantasizing about.

Tonight, it is, when this man treads where no man has ventured before, and tonight, it is, when she, opening up her heart and everything else to him, hands him this gift she’d been saving for a night to remember, for someone she’d gladly die for. A little prick, a little discomfort, some blood, perhaps, but when he tells her with his gentle thrusts and soft kisses that he’s never going to hurt her, she lets him lead her further down this path, farther than any dream has ever taken her. She wants to pinch herself, to ascertain that they’re truly here, truly together, and when he shifts, draws away, then plunges in, going all the way this time, his sighs and the fullness within her prove that they, indeed, are.

One, they are, and this priceless moment, no one can steal from her. A memory it will be when it passes, but _hers_ , nevertheless, and never to be wiped away.

His mouth descends, feeds on her nipple as he pushes into her, riding her as she rides with him on this frantic mount of pleasure. His thumb is back to edging her again. His cock stretches her, and as she wraps tightly around him, she can feel every ridge, feel it beat like a hot hard heartbeat inside her. He pulls out, then rushes back in again, with every thrust, bringing a new _something_ to her sensations. Her belly clenches, and she jerks up at him, meeting him mid-way, their passions colliding, the fire within them becoming one.

Higher, she ascends, and he follows her up that ladder, up into the clouds.

He nurtures her lust, lures her with more.

He urges her to hold on, but tempts her with promises of unbounded pleasure should she just give in and surrender. He sweeps her off her feet, flies her someplace she can’t find her way out of.

He nudges her towards her close, demands more, then gives her all she needs.

And then, when he strikes her with the final push, she falls, crashes and explodes. The pleasure’s tearing her apart, but she wants to burn until she’s reduced to cinders. And she wants to drag him along with her, wants him to jump into this well with her.

One more thrust, then another, he rides her harder, faster, doesn’t want to let go. Her name on his lips, his laboured breaths—she can feel his hunger, his need for this to last forever. She wraps him in a tighter embrace, the flat of her palm digging into his flesh, her fingertips trailing down his slick back, and he clings on to her, helpless like the night she’d held him in the bathtub, delirious with the onset of ecstasy, tonight, in place of the pain he’d once suffered.

More kisses, he pins her down with, every thrust, every crash of his hips on hers telling her he wants to be gone, blown up into puffs of smoke and lost into this pleasurable oneness with her. 

He bucks and spasms, and when he fills her with the warm rush of his seed, over and over, quivering and panting, she feels like she’s made it, at last.

She’s there, she’s one with all around her—she and him, both. Everything is beautiful. Everything is peaceful. Everything is him and he is everything.

Still snugly buried inside her, Jaime looks up to meet her eyes, melting her heart with a smile that’s made it to her from the depths of his. “You will _never_ be alone, Brienne.” 

When he begins to kiss her again, Brienne knows _this_ is not going to end with tonight. When his heartbeat meets hers, she can hear the unsaid, _Trust me, my lady, for I am not my father._

 _Always,_ she promises, when she kisses him back, knowing she will until the end of her days.

**Author's Note:**

> This time, there's not many words between them.  
> Thank you for reading and I hope you liked it.


End file.
